


Defector

by unrivaled_tapestry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crimson Flower Route, Guilt, M/M, Post-CF, Post-Canon, Recruited Felix, background Edeleth, background ferdibert, canon character death, light on kissing but lots of Emotion, weapons enthusiasts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22385749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrivaled_tapestry/pseuds/unrivaled_tapestry
Summary: One war ends, another begins. Some old blades are decommissioned, and Felix can't bring himself to watch good steel go to waste. (Recruited Felix, Post-CF)
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Jeritza von Hrym
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	Defector

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beans (provetheworst)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/provetheworst/gifts).



> Gift fic for Beans (provetheworst), who asked for Felix/Jeritza via Twitter and I just needed to rise to the occasion. This is maybe too much of a slow burn but I hope you like it! I really had a great time writing this.
> 
> A note on the character death tag: the only character deaths are those that canonically happen during the Crimson Flower route. They happen off screen, but the fic does have Felix responding to them, so YMMV/please stay safe!

**1187, Imperial Palace in Enbarr**

Felix had a nice cup of tea with Ferdinand the night he decided to become a defector for the second time. He finished his late-night drink with the Prime Minister. If Ferdinand noticed Felix’s ashen face, he said nothing and bid him goodnight. Nor did he notice the writ of execution missing from his redwood desk after Felix slipped it into the lining of his jacket.

He’d hardly call what he was about to do full treason. It was more like a reminder to keep her friends closer.

After serving the Empire in the war, Felix bore no ill will towards Edelgard. In fact, he respected her decision making—calm to the point of being cold. This latest verdict was not impulsive, nor was it out of character. He even understood her intent, and how conflicted she doubtlessly was. In his time with her, Felix understood that she cared deeply about the people in her command; there were limits, but she had kindness and concern.

Ultimately, in her position, Felix may have done the same—with an enemy as dangerous as the ones Hubert called Those Who Slither, he understood the need to clean up loose ends. To retire blades with more honor than loyalty, that were sharp on both sides.

Did that apply to Felix? Perhaps. But as Faerghan nobility, she still had use of him.

Jeritza had no such protection, and Felix needed to act quickly.

Felix removed the wrapped scroll from his jacket. The wax seal would be enough to get him into the prison tower, but he couldn’t discount that someone along the way would be suspicious enough to go rouse the Prime Minister while he slept. A few of the lower ranking guards along the outside didn’t question his story, and Felix climbed several sets of grim stairs before he received anything other than tired yawns. It took a man with a captain’s badge near the highest room in the tower to look at the seal more than twice.

“Why are you delivering a message to the prisoner at this hour?”

“Because I was asked to,” said Felix. Concise, lightly petulant.

“I will need to verify with Prime Minister Aegir,” the guard said.

Felix shrugged. “You can wake him up if you want. Word of warning though—I saw the Minister of Imperial Affairs coming to visit after I left.”

The guard went pallid. “Count Vestra is with him?”

Felix gave the man credit. He’d really, really wanted to stutter on the ‘V’, but pulled through. “I don’t know what they’re up to, but I’m sure it’s nothing important.”

The guard glanced left or right, as if trying to determine who was around to hear him admit he wasn’t sure what he would be interrupting, and that he didn’t want his name attached to that interruption. He gestured behind him. “Just…go on in and deliver the message.”

Felix gave a tight smile as he walked past him, and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Good man.”

Fortunately, he didn’t have to use that trick again, and the guard remained unsuspecting of the iron key Felix pocketed from his unguarded belt. Swordsmen needed quick hands.

Jeritza sat stiffly on a cushion in a well-decorated cell. His high nose pointed out towards the rising moon, and his hair shone silver in that same light. His eyes blank, his lips moving lightly. Maybe in prayer, maybe in conversation. Something caught in Felix’s chest as he approached the latched bars.

He coughed to get Jeritza’s attention.

“I heard you coming,” Jeritza said. “You argued with the guard.”

“I let the guard decide whether or not he wanted to interrupt von Aegir and Count Vestra.”

“Are they really together tonight?”

“It’s fifty-fifty.” Felix left it unspoken that he truly did not care. “Ferdinand had this letter for you on his desk.”

Jeritza rose languidly from his seated position. The chains on his wrists and ankles jingled as he did so, and Felix got the distinct impression of bells on a horse. Reaching out, Jeritza took the rolled-up parchment from Felix’s hands. He watched Felix the while, as if he expected a trick. Nimbly, he slid his thumb under the seal. “I suppose this is my royal pardon, for my service.”

Felix looked away as Jeritza opened the scroll. It didn’t feel right to watch the moment a man—the moment _Jeritza_ —learned the manner and day he would die. Still, though his placid hands and face never shifted, Felix caught a slight two-parted gasp, followed by a quiet, “Oh.”

Pressing his elbows into the bars, Felix laughed. “Wow, a full intake of breath. I thought I heard a quiver in your chest. I didn’t think you’d be even that upset.”

“I’m resigned to my end,” Jeritza said, voice as flat as ever, carefully wrapping the death writ back into a tube, which he then wound between his hands. “I do detest the means.”

“Beheading is supposed to be painless,” Felix said, though he’d seen men decapitated, and he doubted a claim categorically only made by people who were still alive to make it. “It’s the death of nobles. Or so they say.”

Jeritza shook his head. “I never dreamed to die by a blade when I wasn’t wielding one myself.”

Felix chuckled. “That would give the executioner a surprise. Pretty sure they aren’t used to that.”

That earned another laugh—as unsettling as they were, Felix always felt a bit of dark pride when he could coax one out of Jeritza.

“Not like me,” Felix continued. In for a silver, in for a gold. “If they catch me, I’ll be hanged for what I’m about to do.”

**1180, Gareg Mach**

Felix stood apart from the rest of the newly-dubbed Black Eagle Strike Force as they mingled about, discussing the damage to the monastery in hushed tones. Which he supposed included him, though the label settled unevenly on his shoulders. They celebrated the taking of Gareg Mach, although the events were subdued somewhat by the disappearance of the Professor. Felix suspected they would see her again—saints typically died stuck with arrows or burned at the stake, they didn’t just vanish. Felix himself hung back near a wall bearing the recent damage from a trebuchet, and noted that the smoke from the battlefield was lightening up. Ferdinand and Caspar were absent from the celebrations, as they worked tirelessly to organize groups of soldiers to put the fires out. It would still probably take a couple days to get them all under control and truly assess the damage.

Edelgard gave Felix the news personally a few hours ago, although he knew what she was going to say before she started speaking.

Rhea retreated from the battlefield and sought safe harbor in Faerghus. Dimitri vowed to protect her, and, that night, she graced him with the blessing of the goddess to ascend his throne. King Dimitri’s first act had been to reject Edelgard’s request for the Rhea’s extradition, and to position Faerghus firmly behind the Church of Seiros, committing his people to war with the Empire for little more than hymns.

“If you’d like to leave, you will be granted safe passage to the Faerghan border,” Edelgard had said, offering an expression of genuine compassion that barely reached her eyes, “But if you stay, you will be expected to fight for me. Can you do that?”

Felix’s lungs felt dry and cracked in the heat from the smoke. He realized it was making his eyes burn. “You’ve nothing to worry about from me. I’d rather follow a villain than a beast.”

Her face lapsed into a deep scowl—if she thought about striking him down, that too never reached her eyes. “I suppose I’d expect nothing less than harsh words from you, Felix. I know you have no love for the church, but am I to believe you have _none_ for Dimitri?”

“You’re asking if you can trust me?”

“If you stay, I’d expect to trust you regardless. I’m asking if you still care for him. I know you were friends.” Edelgard raised her shoulders and looked out over the devastation from the battle. “We will see dozens of battles like this one, and he will be waiting at the end of it.”

A memory returned to Felix’s mind, unbidden—it was a scene of brutal slaughter, of viscera masking how many people had really been killed, of golden hair turned red from blood. Felix saw Dimitri looking back to him as rain cleaned his face, and when he looked for humanity behind the wide, boyish smile he’d seen none at all.

“Dimitri died a long time ago.” Felix brushed something away from his cheek, a smudge of ash. “I will follow you.”

Edelgard nodded. “Very well then.”

Felix watched her as she returned to the Eagles, wondering what he was doing.

“You were one of the Blue Lions.”

Felix’s skin pricked into goosebumps, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He whirled around, trying not to look too surprised to see Jeritza looming over his shoulder. His ashen blond hair bore the stains and burns from a fiery battle, and he’d changed out of his armor into a simple dark tunic and boots. As he had always done, he addressed Felix, but seemed to be speaking through him.

Training taught him to control his breath. He hadn’t even heard Jeritza approach.

He snorted. “Were you there to kill me if I took Edelgard up on her offer?”

“No,” Jeritza confirmed, feeling his way through each word in his own lazy, meandering speech pattern. “I feel as though she meant it. Hubert von Vestra likely would have arranged an accident for you, but I do not fully know his mind.”

Felix scowled, and forcefully crossed his arms. “Then why the hell were you standing there eavesdropping?”

Jeritza said nothing, made no movement at all to acknowledge what Felix had said. “Curiosity.”

“I’m going to keep asking questions until you come out with it.”

“Traitor,” Jeritza finally found. “I believe that is the word that describes you. As far as King Dimitri is concerned.”

If he were a cat, his hackles would have shot up. He fought the rising bolt of anger and stepped into Jeritza’s space. Death Knight or no, Felix clenched his fist at his side. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know you were with the Blue Lions and born to serve under Dimitri when he took his throne. You have now sided with Emperor Edelgard against the church. Why?”

“Feh. If Edelgard had sided with the church, Dimitri would have become an atheist.” Felix spat on the ground. “Does Dimitri really believe in the church, or is he just helping Rhea because she was nice to him one time? You decide. I don’t care. He’s unfit to rule or lead.”

“I see,” Jeritza said. “Do you crave battle with him?”

Felix stared up at Jeritza. “Why would you ask me that? I’ve fought Dimitri before.”

A low, musical sound emerged from Jeritza’s throat, like a child with plague singing a song. Chills went down Felix’s spine as he realized it was a laugh. “You have sparred with him. But I saw it, there were times you both wished the weapons were real.” He sighed, smothering another rising laugh. “I suppose they are now.”

Felix took in a harsh breath, steeled himself, and began to move past Jeritza. As he did, he made sure the very edge of his shoulder connected with Jeritza’s. “You think Edelgard won’t turn her eyes on the shapeshifters when she’s done with Lady Rhea? You’ll be in chains the second the war is over.”

As he strode away, that uncanny laugh followed him once more. “I look forward to it.”

**1187, Imperial Palace in Enbarr**

Felix and Jeritza didn’t even have to fight their way out. Felix knew the guts of the prison tower well enough; he’d spent enough time over the last few weeks indulging idle fancies of rescue, of weaknesses in security, that he was able to slip out with Jeritza undetected. The imperial guard would only be down headache medication for one unconscious fool. Jeritza kept his head bowed low under his stolen guard’s cap and tunic, his fingers flexing and unflexing on the lance in his fingers.

Felix and the “captain” were able to leave without trouble—a couple soldiers even saluted Jeritza in the poor light. For his part, Jeritza kept his face hidden and said nothing as he walked, as patiently and silently as a plague behind Felix.

When they reached the moonlight courtyard, Felix let out a huge breath. “I have horses tied and waiting for both of us.”

Behind him, Jeritza came to a stop. “Horses?”

“Yes, horses. Multiple equines.” Felix turned to face him, ready to berate him for slowing down, until he saw the lift of surprise in those gray eyes, the regal mouth slightly agape. “They’ll know it was me who freed you. Maybe I made friends here, but I’ve seen Edelgard’s justice. I don’t want to be a prop any more than I want to be, you know, dead.”

“That is not what I really asked.” Jeritza tilted his head, as if he was struggling to understand. “What reason do you have to help me?”

Felix shrugged. “I don’t know. Because it could have been me.” Maybe because he was as bad at keeping things casual, but he didn’t seek to insult either him or Jeritza. “As soon as we’re clear of the border, you can go whichever way you like.”

Jeritza didn’t reply, just stood there in the middle of his own prison break, as if Felix spoke in tongues. Impatience spiked up violently behind Felix’s shoulders and he frantically glanced around him. “Come on, do you want to be rescued or not?”

“It matters not to me,” Jeritza replied, his voice as flat and dull as always. “The Professor no longer brims with the power she did before. The shadow behind my skull no longer craves her blood.”

Felix blinked. “Well, whatever that is, you can figure it out after we cross Fodlan’s Throat. I’m running short on sparring partners, if that helps.” He gestured frantically towards the stables. “Please? Saving someone who doesn’t want to be saved seems like, easily, the stupidest way for me to die.”

Jeritza raised a brow. Finally, his legs unlocked, and he followed Felix. Absently, he cast a glance behind them, to the wing of the palace where Edelgard and the Professor resided. He moved as if in a dream, his eyes unfocused like a cat, as if the last thread of an invisible string pulled him invariably back towards battle and death.

Something pinged inside of Felix. “You know a worse way to die than beheading?”

Jeritza tore himself away from the distant wing of the palace. “What would that be?”

“Killed by the guy trying to get you out of prison,” Felix said, his voice low. “If you use me letting you out to threaten Edelgard or the Professor, or any of our former classmates, I will put you down.”

The smallest smile crossed Jeritza’s delicate face. “I have no doubt. Merely a passing fancy. Lead on, Felix of Nowhere.”

Felix probably shouldn’t have liked that as much as he did. He felt a smile forming as he continued their escape.

**1185, Gareg Mach**

Five years passed, and Felix committed himself to the mission of Adrestia’s war. His blade and major crest proved invaluable, and he did develop a kind of camaraderie with his former classmates. He knocked an arrow away from Dorothea; she sent a bolt of lightning at a knight ready to halve him. Once, he’d taken a serious wound and spent a solid thirty seconds calculating whether he could get back to the healer’s tent in time before determining that he wouldn’t be able to. A hand full of healing light had been placed on his shoulder, and he went from being a dead man to rising back to his feet under Linhardt’s palm. He appreciated Hubert’s confident power and flanked him to provide protection from advancing lancers. Although Edelgard and her other generals offered Felix accolades, he declined them, simply looking to the next battle. There was always a need to fill that request.

Then the Professor returned, looking much the same as she had when she vanished five years ago. Out into the ether, and then back from it.

Felix respected her, was glad to see her. Still, he knew this was the secret weapon Edelgard had been waiting for. To Felix, it was a sign that the confrontation he’d been waiting for drew nearer.

He left dinner early to go run through his motions on the training ground.

He started with active stretches to limber up, and then moved slowly through a series of practiced movements with his weighted training blade. First his right hand, then his left for if he ever lost his right. The motions went smoothly, helped him identify the catch developing in his left elbow from holding a shield. He’d lunge, fall back, twirl, change hands, then slash forward at where a throat would be. He increased his speed until he flew through the movements, and his muscles ached.

As he stood panting, he realized he was being watched.

Felix walked over to a bucket of water he’d drawn and took a quick drink before wiping the sweat from his brow. “How long have you been standing there?”

Jeritza’s brow inclined, and he tilted his head. “You don’t have to stop on my account.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Felix watched Jeritza for any sign, any indication of what he wanted.

Although they’d fought together for five years now, Jeritza spent most of his time on horseback. They usually were at the opposite ends of a battlefield, but Felix caught the occasional look. With that cleaving scythe of his, enemy soldiers fell like wheat before Jeritza. Felix thought of him as a capable, dangerous soldier. However, they were all capable, dangerous soldiers.

What Felix always noticed was his face—like a flat lake over a dam. Immensely powerful, but measured, like a plague. He was ruthless but not cruel. Everyone kept him at a distance—most of the Black Eagles never forgot his treason at Gareg Mach, and Jeritza did nothing to imply his loyalty for Edelgard was especially strong.

Still, Felix watched him, and he often wondered if he was watched in return.

Felix snapped his hair out of its bun, and it fell wetly over his face.

“Professor’s back,” he said, by way of conversation.

“I am glad,” Jeritza said, not sounding wholly glad. “A part of me…longs to fight her in single combat, to kill or die like one of the legends.”

Felix regarded him evenly before shaking his hair out and drawing it back up into a knot. “I wouldn’t say that within earshot of Edelgard.”

“It is a feeling,” Jeritza said. “It is my choice whether to act on it or not. Someday does not mean today.”

“Someday comes a lot sooner for some of us than others.” Felix knew the Professor’s return would embolden Edelgard. The war would enter a new stage, and Felix finally saw his path winding back to Arianrhod. Fhirdiad laid beyond that.

“You are speaking of King Dimitri?”

Felix slammed the towel back onto its hook more forcefully than he needed to. “Maybe I am. Maybe I just hate people calling him ‘king’.”

“It is his title, is it not?”

Felix shook his head. “Anyone who’s seen him in battle— _really_ in battle—would know he has no place sitting on a throne. They’re all complicit.”

“Would you say the same of me?”

“The ‘Death Knight’ thing is a bit much,” Felix assented, bluntly. “But no. Besides, do you want to be a king?”

Jeritza approached one of the training dummies, absently adjusting its crooked head and tin hat. “I’ve no need for the trappings of titles.”

“There you go,” Felix said. He checked his heartrate by pressing two fingers into his pulse. His recovery time wasn’t as good today as he would have liked, but he couldn’t discount how Jeritza’s gaze unsettled him. “Then I wouldn’t say the same of you.” He gestured out to the training grounds. “It’s all yours. The caretakers don’t mind if you stay late as long as you clean up afterwards.”

“I know,” Jeritza drawled out, and removed his own weighted training sword from the rack at the end of the pit. “Spar with me?”

Felix shook his head, sensing danger. “Some other time. It’s probably best for us not to spar while we’re thinking about someone else.”

Jeritza’s eyes widened a fraction. “I didn’t say I would be. It is probably…best for us not to fight those at the forefront of our minds.”

Felix paused at the exit, his training bag slung over his shoulder. He searched Jeritza’s face for a sign of a lie in the low light. But his expression remained placid, like porcelain or the death mask of a king.

**1187, Imperial Palace in Enbarr**

Felix’s heart raced. Not like it did when he was in battle, when he barely noticed it over the sound of the blood in his ears or the clank of steel, the impact of powerful magic striking men or stirring up hot, electric earth. No, he felt more like a rabbit now. He knew risk, he prided himself on his own calm, even if it was not so eerie as Jeritza’s, and for the first time in a long time, the consequences of failure weighed on him. Much like Jeritza, he’d never expected to die weaponless or running.

If they were caught, he would not allow himself to be taken alive. Sitting in a cell, waiting for a butter fingered fool to tie a knot wasn’t in the cards for him; as long as he drew breath, he would struggle against that fate, now that he’d committed himself to it. He assumed Jeritza felt the same way. The idea that he was acting impulsively, emotionally, ate away at his usual determination. But when he thought about what it would make him to stand by the wayside and let the cards fall on Jeritza for safety’s sake.

He didn’t think he could stomach that version of himself.

He would follow his own path to the end.

As they approached the columned pathway leading to the stables, Jeritza caught up to his heels. He finally sped up, but his movements remained smooth, fluid, and reminded Felix that the man was downright unshakeable.

As they strode between the pillars, Jeritza’s hand pulled sharply on Felix’s shoulder, trying to pull him out of a line of sight as they passed the walkway leading to the gardens. Felix responded a hair’s breadth later, but the damage was done. He stumbled back into Jeritza as Linhardt’s surprised expression met them near the end of the walkway.

Linhardt was smoking his pipe in the moonlight, it seemed. He faced Felix and Jeritza, frozen in place as tendrils of smoke poured out of his nose. Felix and Jeritza looked back. Felix imagined they all looked like deer that had startled each other. They were stunned and hovering between fighting or fleeing.

Felix felt Jeritza’s question boring into his back. He’d said no killing. He’d said no going after their former classmates. He hadn’t said what they would do if they encountered one taking a smoke break near the outer rim of the palace.

Smoke rose languidly from the pipe in Linhardt’s gracefully lazy hand, and he let out a breath, the smoke haloing around his wide pupils as he calmly observed them preparing to flee. Felix’s throat tightened; they were dead to rights. If Linhardt so much as yelled before they killed him, the guards would be on them before they could make it out the first gate.

Linhardt took another long drag on his pipe, the burning paste at one end brightening and lighting up his pale face with orange.

“Linhardt.” Felix took a sharp breath, and as he spoke he let it out through his teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“Would you believe it?” Linhardt started, spoke spiraling out from his lips. “I couldn’t sleep.” He tapped the end of his pipe. “Aren’t you supposed to be in prison?”

“I’m sure you understand what a difficult position this puts us in,” Jeritza cooed from over Felix’s shoulder. “I don’t think Felix wants to kill you, though.”

“Hmm, thank the dethroned goddess for that,” Linhardt said, a nervous edge to his voice, though he still sounded like he was attempting to sound even more bored than Jeritza did. He took another draw from his pipe. “Shame, about Edelgard sentencing you to die. You should know I don’t agree with it.”

“You can’t have seen us,” Felix said, his voice like ice even as he felt it shaking. Damn. He really didn’t want to kill Linhardt. He knew, earnestly, that he’d deserve whatever wrath would follow him for it—it wouldn’t just be Edelgard or Hubert seeking to tie up loose ends; he’d have the entire Black Eagle Strike Force follow him to the edge of the world if this conversation went badly. A few days ago, he would have been right with them.

Linhardt yawned, evaluating them. “So long as you promise not to tell Ferdinand I was smoking so close to the stables—I’m still far enough away, mind you, but you know how he is.”

““I think I can manage it, somehow.” A smile quirked on Felix’s lips. “Thanks, Linhardt.”

“Don’t mention it,” Linhardt said, lazily. “Seriously, don’t. I’m pretty sure I just became an accessory or something.” He waved at Jeritza. “Have a nice life.”

Felix started walking again, and before he could find out what Jeritza would do when his back was turned, Felix pressed his hand into Jeritza’s shoulder and pushed him to the front.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jertiza said, almost at a whine, “I wasn’t going to.”

“Do you blame me?”

“No,” Jeritza said, as they crossed into the stables, the scent of fresh pine shavings immediately assaulting Felix’s nose. “It would have been safer to insure he couldn’t speak.”

“Exactly,” Felix lightly snapped, making for the stalls with his tied horses. “Glad I’m in charge of the treason.”

**1185, Gareg Mach**

A scream tore from Felix’s throat as he slashed for Jeritza’s ribs. His blunted blade caught the tip of Jeritza’s protective vest as his opponent dodged nimbly to the side. That error left his right side wide open, and Jeritza deftly—and painfully—poked Felix in the shoulder with his much lighter blade.

Felix paused, an angry growl working its way up his throat as everything, 5 years worth of pain finally burned its way out. He kicked violently at the soft ground of the practice field. The Knight’s Hall was empty, save for Felix, Jeritza, and the sound of a crackling fire. Instead of turning to Jeritza, Felix stormed up to one of the training dummies. He took his sabre in hand and struck it again, and again, and again with the dulled blade. Every time, a shock traveled up his arm that made the bones of his wrist ache. With every impact, a more of the wooden shaft groaned, crackled. As he continued, his crest sung down the length of the blade, and he continued until chunks of wood flew off and the dummy lay at his feet like a broken scarecrow.

He didn’t notice Jeritza come up behind him. In a fluid motion, he’d pinned Felix’s sword arm. A cool—very sharp—blade met Felix’s throat. The edge was much, much too thin to be a training weapon.

He froze, intense, instinctive fear cooling his anger. He stood there, panting as his back flexed against Jeritza’s chest. He noticed how warm they both were, felt where the sweat on their clothes was already chilling them. Jeritza’s breath stayed cool, while Felix quivered against him. Eyes wide. Waiting for the distinctive movement of a blade sliding under his skin and spouting arterial blood all over the sand at his boots.

“Never turn your back on your opponent,” Jeritza said. His dagger hovered near Felix’s throat for a second longer before he flicked it away and changed his grip. “Has the moment passed?”

Felix stood frozen in place, except for the quick nod he gave. His breath came out in heavy gasps, threatening the carefully constructed walls around his heart that had protected him for the last few months.

He looked at the remains of the training dummy he’d butchered, and it reminded him of a trail of broken bodies. At the Taltean plains, imperial soldiers had broken through the line and surrounded the King of Faerghus like an animal, and none dared to come too close because too many of them saw what he’d done to their comrades.

“Why didn’t he surrender?” He choked out, just as he heard Jeritza pick up his training bag.

“I’m sure you can answer that question yourself,” Jeritza drawled from the edge of the pit, though Felix didn’t hear him walking away.

Felix knelt down to pick up his training sabre and went to replace it on the wall. “I can. It doesn’t make me any less angry.” Felix reached up to his hair tie, and let the mess fall loose. Faces came to mind. One after the other, all left bleeding and broken for outdated notions of honor and the divine right of kings. Dead in boxes or dead on pyres. His heart raced in his chest, and his eyes burned from loose dirt.

“Do you think the Emperor would have spared him if he had?” Jeritza asked evenly.

“I don’t know. Maybe? Probably not.” Felix pressed his hands into the side of pale. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“Do you not respect him for fighting until the end?” asked Jeritza.

Felix scoffed. “Maybe if he’d actually been fighting for something.”

As he turned around, Felix caught Jeritza evaluating him near the exit. He leaned against the wall, his training bag in one hand. Felix hesitated before stepping closer to Jeritza, into his space, maintaining eye contact as he felt the warmth radiating from Jeritza’s shoulders. They were cooled down now, and Felix felt himself drawn to the form of Jeritza’s body.

Seconds ticked by between them while Felix waited for Jeritza to say something, do something, reach out to him, walk away. His ashen hair fell over his cheeks, and his pupils were wide like a cat’s in the dim light of the Knight’s Hall.

“Tell me,” Felix said, practically into Jeritza’s neck. “Did you think about killing me just now?”

“I fought the urge,” Jeritza admitted. “There was a part of me that saw the power radiating off of you and wanted it.”

“I suppose I should be disturbed hearing that.” Felix said as he pressed his chest against Jeritza’s, wrapped his arms around the taller man’s waist. “You want to feel my crest? I know another way we could make that happen.”

Jeritza leaned down into him, his hair falling between them as his lips hovered an inch from Felix’s. Felix smelled something sweet on his breath. Strawberries? Impossible, maddening. But at least the sensation was anything but rain, anything but mud under his boots and two identical coffins being laid in shallow graves.

“We have control over what impulses we follow,” Jeritza whispered, an inch away from Felix’s lips, so close that puffs of breath tickled his jawline.

“Well, I don’t want to fight this urge,” Felix replied, and tilted his head up to kiss Jertiza. In response, Jertiza’s shoulders curled around him. Mechanically, he wrapped his arms around Felix’s waist in turn, and he melted into Felix’s body, around him. He pushed closer, until Jeritza was pressed between him and the wall. A deeper, more heady heat came to life under his skin, and beneath his hands Jeritza hummed. “Make me feel.”

Jeritza obliged.

**1187, Enbarr City Limits**

Felix rode along the road at a steady trot. They were still technically within the city limits of Enbarr, but copses of trees and large fields fled by instead of the brick and ironworks of the city. He’d stilled the bells on his horse so as not to alert any passing patrols, but as soon as they crossed into Aegir county he and Jeritza would be able to take a breather and ride like ordinary pilgrims.

Since they rode out the gates of the imperial palace at a canter, Jeritza had been quiet. No alarms sounded, the city continued to gently rouse itself as the earliest stores opened for the day, and they managed the dangerous ride through the first gate without complications. He looked out of place with the guard captain’s hefty, cheap sword strapped to his back. Felix promised him he’d get him a better one when they reached former Alliance territory. That earned him a rare smile.

They rode towards Fodlan’s Throat. Between checkpoints and meandering routes, Felix wasn’t sure when they would arrive, but for now he was content to ride together towards solitude.


End file.
